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  626 
  

  

  THE 
  NATIONAL 
  GEOGRAPHIC 
  MAGAZINE 
  

  

  derna. 
  all 
  labored 
  there 
  ; 
  it 
  represents 
  the 
  

   flower 
  of 
  Roman 
  art 
  in 
  that 
  time. 
  

  

  There 
  is 
  more 
  of 
  their 
  work 
  in 
  the 
  ad- 
  

   joining 
  palace, 
  the 
  "house 
  of 
  a 
  thousand 
  

   rooms," 
  in 
  one 
  corner 
  of 
  which 
  His 
  Holi- 
  

   ness 
  the 
  Pope 
  dwells. 
  The 
  rest 
  is 
  given 
  

   over 
  to 
  museums 
  and 
  galleries. 
  The 
  pal- 
  

   ace 
  covers 
  thirteen 
  acres, 
  of 
  which 
  six 
  are 
  

   in 
  courtyards, 
  large 
  and 
  small, 
  and 
  behind 
  

   it 
  are 
  beautiful 
  gardens 
  which 
  one 
  may 
  

   not 
  enter. 
  

  

  GHOSTS 
  OF 
  ANCIENT 
  ROME 
  

  

  The 
  sun 
  goes 
  slowly 
  down 
  behind 
  pal- 
  

   ace 
  and 
  church.* 
  The 
  Pincio 
  still 
  lies 
  in 
  

   the 
  light, 
  but 
  the 
  violet 
  shadows 
  lengthen 
  

   stealthily. 
  Out 
  of 
  them 
  come 
  trooping, 
  

   with 
  the 
  darkness, 
  a 
  host 
  of 
  memories, 
  

   ghosts 
  of 
  ancient 
  Rome. 
  

  

  Nero's 
  uneasy 
  spirit 
  walks 
  nightly 
  in 
  

   the 
  Piazza 
  del 
  Popolo, 
  finding 
  no 
  rest 
  in 
  

   his 
  grave. 
  Messalina, 
  of 
  evil 
  memory, 
  

   haunts 
  the 
  gardens 
  of 
  the 
  hill 
  where 
  she 
  

   was 
  slain. 
  

  

  In 
  the 
  dusky 
  streets, 
  stretching 
  away 
  

   from 
  us 
  on 
  every 
  side, 
  sandaled 
  or 
  booted 
  

   footsteps 
  resound 
  softly, 
  the 
  patter 
  of 
  

   that 
  host 
  whose 
  names 
  illumine 
  history, 
  

   coming 
  toward 
  us 
  down 
  the 
  centuries: 
  

   Caesar 
  and 
  Pompey, 
  Scipio 
  and 
  Hannibal, 
  

   Trajan 
  and 
  Marcus 
  Aurelius^Ste. 
  Cecilia 
  

   and 
  St. 
  Paul, 
  Constantine, 
  Alaric, 
  Charle- 
  

   magne, 
  Gregory, 
  Petrarch 
  and 
  Tasso, 
  

   Borgia 
  and 
  Cenci, 
  Colonna 
  and 
  Orsino, 
  

   Luther 
  and 
  Galileo, 
  Rienzi, 
  Titian, 
  Loyola, 
  

   Palestrina, 
  Napoleon 
  — 
  an 
  endless 
  proces- 
  

   sion 
  — 
  emperor, 
  conqueror, 
  poet, 
  artist, 
  

   saint 
  or 
  martyr, 
  each 
  with 
  a 
  claim 
  on 
  fame. 
  

  

  The 
  Pincio, 
  the 
  "Hill 
  of 
  Gardens" 
  in 
  

   Lucullus' 
  time, 
  became 
  under 
  Napoleon 
  

   (1809-14) 
  a 
  beautiful 
  pleasure 
  ground. 
  

   For 
  a 
  century 
  fashionable 
  Rome 
  came 
  

   here 
  toward 
  sunset 
  to 
  drive 
  slowly 
  in 
  

   great 
  circles, 
  listen 
  to 
  music, 
  and 
  pay 
  each 
  

   other 
  visits, 
  while 
  the 
  less 
  wealthy 
  Ro- 
  

   mans 
  loitered 
  afoot 
  on 
  the 
  terrace 
  to 
  

   gossip 
  and 
  to 
  watch 
  the 
  show 
  (see 
  p. 
  612). 
  

  

  Gossip 
  there 
  was 
  a-plenty, 
  jesting, 
  soft 
  

   laughter, 
  and 
  more 
  or 
  less 
  flirting, 
  no 
  

   doubt, 
  for 
  in 
  the 
  carriages, 
  well 
  chaper- 
  

   oned, 
  of 
  course, 
  were 
  to 
  be 
  seen 
  the 
  fair- 
  

   est 
  faces 
  of 
  Rome. 
  And 
  not 
  only 
  the 
  

   beauties, 
  all 
  the 
  celebrities 
  were 
  there 
  — 
  

   the 
  greatest 
  statesmen, 
  the 
  soldier-idol 
  of 
  

  

  *St. 
  Peter's 
  faqade 
  looks 
  to 
  the 
  east, 
  not 
  to 
  

   the 
  west, 
  and 
  its 
  priests 
  face 
  the 
  congregation 
  

   across 
  the 
  altar. 
  

  

  the 
  moment, 
  the 
  most 
  popular 
  cardinals 
  

   resident 
  in 
  Rome 
  — 
  receiving 
  graciously 
  

   the 
  salutations 
  of 
  their 
  admirers, 
  the 
  

   murmured 
  applause 
  of 
  the 
  crowd. 
  

  

  three 
  years 
  after 
  the: 
  war 
  

  

  Then 
  came 
  war 
  and 
  changes. 
  Soldiers, 
  

   priests, 
  statesmen 
  hastened 
  to 
  their 
  du- 
  

   ties; 
  ladies, 
  old 
  and 
  young, 
  to 
  service 
  in 
  

   hospitals, 
  workrooms, 
  soup-kitchens. 
  

  

  Now, 
  after 
  three 
  and 
  a 
  half 
  years 
  of 
  

   warfare 
  and 
  three 
  and 
  a 
  half 
  of 
  peace, 
  

   bitter 
  even 
  to 
  victors, 
  the 
  old 
  custom 
  re- 
  

   sumes 
  sway. 
  But 
  is 
  the 
  sunshine 
  as 
  

   bright, 
  the 
  laughter 
  as 
  gay 
  ? 
  Eyes 
  that 
  see 
  

   through 
  tears 
  see 
  shadows 
  everywhere, 
  

   and 
  who 
  can 
  laugh 
  wholeheartedly 
  when 
  

   so 
  much 
  youth 
  lies 
  dead? 
  

  

  Another 
  generation 
  must 
  grow 
  up, 
  an- 
  

   other 
  generation 
  which 
  has 
  not 
  witnessed 
  

   the 
  devastation 
  of 
  Italy's 
  great 
  plain, 
  

   which 
  has 
  not 
  lost 
  father 
  or 
  husband, 
  

   brother 
  or 
  lover, 
  on 
  some 
  distant 
  battle- 
  

   field 
  or, 
  worse 
  yet, 
  seen 
  them 
  come 
  home 
  

   from 
  prison-camps 
  only 
  to 
  die 
  miserably. 
  

  

  Like 
  all 
  other 
  nations 
  engaged 
  in 
  the 
  

   World 
  War, 
  Italy 
  had 
  her 
  share 
  of 
  all 
  its 
  

   miseries 
  and 
  its 
  aftermath. 
  

  

  Like 
  all 
  others, 
  she 
  had 
  her 
  share 
  of 
  

   those 
  ignoble 
  souls 
  who 
  profited 
  ghoul- 
  

   ishly 
  upon 
  their 
  country's 
  necessities 
  and 
  

   her 
  children's 
  lives. 
  

  

  Like 
  them, 
  she 
  has 
  had 
  — 
  more 
  than 
  

   most, 
  perhaps 
  — 
  her 
  labor 
  troubles, 
  her 
  

   sporadic 
  revolutions 
  against 
  law 
  and 
  

   order, 
  her 
  misled 
  patriots, 
  her 
  willful 
  

   mischief-makers 
  ; 
  has 
  had 
  to 
  listen 
  in 
  

   helpless 
  anxiety 
  to 
  the 
  wails 
  of 
  the 
  hun- 
  

   gry, 
  the 
  outcry 
  against 
  rationing 
  of 
  foods, 
  

   the 
  ever-increasing 
  prices 
  of 
  necessities, 
  

   and 
  the 
  ever 
  - 
  depreciating 
  purchasing 
  

   power 
  of 
  her 
  money. 
  

  

  It 
  is 
  a 
  very 
  different 
  Rome 
  that 
  walks 
  

   today 
  upon 
  the 
  Pincio 
  — 
  walks 
  because 
  

   few 
  have 
  money 
  for 
  carriages 
  or 
  motors, 
  

   as 
  of 
  old 
  — 
  a 
  Rome 
  that 
  no 
  longer 
  "takes 
  

   memories 
  for 
  hopes," 
  but 
  looks 
  gravely 
  

   into 
  a 
  future 
  stern 
  and 
  grim, 
  but 
  at 
  length 
  

   giving 
  promise 
  of 
  coming 
  sunshine. 
  

  

  Italians 
  are 
  industrious 
  and 
  frugal. 
  

   Harvests 
  in 
  times 
  of 
  peace 
  are 
  usually 
  

   bounteous. 
  Some 
  bitter 
  lessons 
  there 
  yet 
  

   may 
  be 
  to 
  learn 
  before 
  the 
  sun 
  shines 
  

   radiantly 
  ; 
  but, 
  if 
  all 
  Rome 
  desire 
  it 
  ar- 
  

   dently, 
  there 
  shall 
  arise 
  a 
  city 
  which 
  will 
  

   far 
  outshine 
  the 
  glories 
  of 
  the 
  old 
  and 
  

   irradiate 
  all 
  Italy. 
  

  

  